


liquid smooth (come touch me too)

by zealotarchaeologist



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, no but actually., that one scene in 2.03 really got me good, wound fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealotarchaeologist/pseuds/zealotarchaeologist
Summary: Villanelle gets injured. Eve gets more than she bargained for.





	liquid smooth (come touch me too)

**Author's Note:**

> something short and sexy to make up for my heartache. there's no plot here but consider the setup to be like...they have discussed their mutual feelings but are not yet an item and haven't fucked before.
> 
> obviously this is unrealistic and don't try it in real life, but i have a kink, so,

Villanelle’s tongue is on her hand. Which is only possible because Eve has closed a hand over her mouth. Which she is only doing because—because—

It went to shit so fast.

Apparently the Twelve, or someone with them, aren’t too happy about Villanelle freelancing. And as weird as it is to admit it, that’s as good a lead as they have. So Eve gets to take up her honored position as official Villanelle wrangler. Really, they might as well make it official. She deserves a raise.

It’s a little weird, not chasing each other around. Not that they’re on the same side exactly, hardly. But especially after their last conversation, something is irreversibly different.

Maybe that’s why she was distracted. Maybe if she had been paying more attention they wouldn’t have ended up in this stupid ambush, maybe they wouldn’t have been able to get a shot off on Villanelle. Her concern isn’t entirely concern, admittedly. Some of it is possessive. Some of it is guilt—maybe she was the one distracting Villanelle, after all. But it doesn’t matter now.

Villanelle is stable, but they really do need to check the wound, get it bandaged. And they need to be fucking quiet before the attacker comes back to finish the job, so. Her hand, Villanelle’s mouth. Trying not to think about it. Hard _not_ to think about it when Villanelle’s tongue is right there, moving in a way that can only be described as flirtatious. Eve pulls her hand back like she’s been bitten, wipes it on her pants and tries to ignore how Villanelle raises an eyebrow at her. Focus. She needs to focus.

She forces herself to look away from Villanelle’s face, focus on the gunshot that’s gone clean through her arm. Just under her shoulder, missing the bone. It’s good luck for them, less so for their would-be assassin.

Almost reverently, she traces a finger around the ragged edge of the wound. Sure, she stabbed Villanelle before, but that had been in the heat of the moment. She had barely registered what she was doing. Can she really hurt her on purpose, even if it’s only for a moment? Can she really…put her finger in there?

“E-ve,” Villanelle sing-songs above her. “Are you going to take all day? Do you need me to hold your hand?”

Yes, yes she can. “God, you’re such a brat,” she hisses back, and _pushes_ her thumb into the bullet hole.

Villanelle moans. Loud. And it doesn’t entirely sound like pain.

Footsteps on the floor above them. Eve drops her voice barely above a whisper. “Do I have to cover your mouth again? Cause I’ll do it.”

“I’ll bite you.” Villanelle grins.

“Then you can go ahead and walk out of here bleeding all over the damn place.”

“You are meaner than usual today. It suits you.”

Eve rolls her eyes, she can’t help it. If she’s mean, it’s only because Villanelle brings out the worst in her.

“Are you going to be quiet, _Oksana_?”

She glowers. “Not if you call me that.”

“Ksanochka? Ksanushka?” That’s pretty much the extent of her Russian, but it’s such a funny reaction, this killer pulling a face like she’s bitten down on a horribly bitter lemon. “What, that’s not doing anything for you?”

“Call me my real name or I’ll scream.” She doesn’t doubt it.

“Villanelle.” Eve says, simply, and twists her fingers in.

Villanelle keeps her word. She bites down on her lip to keep from making any sound, but it clearly takes some effort. Her fingers clench and unclench on Eve’s leg. Eve moves her forefinger deeper without thinking about it, seeking—what, a reaction?

The wound is deeper than she thought. She could push clean through, but she should stop. She should stop this. “It was clean. No shrapnel, no bullet.” She says in a whisper, trying to keep her tone clinical. Villanelle only nods, her brow knitted up with the effort of staying quiet. There’s a flush high on her perfect cheekbones. If Eve didn’t know better, she’d say it looks like—

“Oh my god, are you _actually_ getting off on this?”

She has the nerve to fucking grin. “Are you not?”

It’s so insane and infuriating and _sexy_ she can’t stand it. There must be something wrong with her to find this hot, being literally two fingers deep in this unabashed killer and somehow more turned on than she’s been in probably decades. She wants so much at once—to kiss her, to run away, to wipe the stupid hot grin off her face because Villanelle is right about her, has been right about everything all along.

She moves her fingers slightly, experimentally. Villanelle laughs at her boldness, laughs like she’s won, then swallows the sound when Eve scissors her fingers apart. Blood seeps from the wound and it feels so much warmer than she expected, trickling down her arm.

Villanelle jerks her hips forward, almost involuntarily. She’s keeping good and quiet now, only the sound of her heavy breathing between them. Even someone like Villanelle feels pain, so whatever she’s getting out of this must be good. It certainly looks good on her. Villanelle looks unfairly erotic doing practically anything, but this is almost too much. Her back curving in a graceful arc, her eyes glazed over, those full lips open. The blood smeared on her skin.

It’s only now that Eve realizes how close they are. If anything, Villanelle has moved closer to her, practically straddling her leg. Anyone looking at them from a distance would think—well. “Have to say, this is not how I imagined our first time.”

“But you did imagine it?”

Eve doesn’t answer that. She can’t. Instead she pulls her finger from the wound, from _inside_ Villanelle, and kisses her.

It isn’t the first time. But it’s the first time they’ve done it like this, teeth and tongues and Eve’s fingertip moving in and out, in and out. Another gush of blood, another gasp for her to swallow, another chance to bite down on Villanelle’s soft lower lip and find the hint of metal under the artificial sweetness of her lipstick.

When she finally lets her go Villanelle is breathing ragged. “I think you should kiss it better again.” She smirks, despite it all. “It still hurts.”

Eve thumbs the edge of the wound again, traces it. Each motion elicits something good, a sound, a face, a movement and she can’t stop. It’s something Villanelle brings out in her, the urge to be mean, to show her—what? That she’s up for the challenge? She wants to chase this girl down and pin her, drag out every secret from her lips.

She should stop this. She should bandage the wound. Instead she asks, “What do you want?”

“Your hand,” is Villanelle’s moaned response. So she tries to take her hand away from the wound but Villanelle shakes her head, growls and grabs the other one. She doesn’t even let Eve fumble with the buttons on her expensive pants, just shoves her hand down them.

“I waited,” she says, free of any pretense or bravado now, “so long.” And then Eve moves, finds her clit and she’s barely touched her before Villanelle is coming hard against her hand, the strong muscles of her thighs tensing and fluttering. It’s like it’s not the touch but the mere idea of Eve touching her. Her eyes go wide, her mouth open and she whines like she might cry from how good it feels and Eve tells herself that’s why she has to kiss her, not because she’s overwhelmed by how hot it is to have this living weapon at her mercy. Everyone worries about this thing between them consuming her but it’s her who wants to consume, wants to _know_ Villanelle inside and out and devour her.

This master assassin leans against her, boneless and surprisingly soft. She wonders if Villanelle always looks like that when she comes, or if that’s just for her. If she fakes it with strangers. If she can go again.

Maybe they’ll find out. Villanelle rubs up on her like a cat in her lap. She moves her hips in lazy circles, purposeless, just chasing the last of her pleasure.

Before she even knows what she’s doing, Eve slides a hand to her lower back, encouraging the motion. And just like everything with Villanelle there’s no just a little, there’s no moderation, no way to put her down once you’ve tried her. Once she pulls Villanelle close against her, there’s no letting go. Some irrational part of her feels like she’s going to escape again. So Eve holds her down, buries her face in her neck and breathes in the lingering scent of _la villanelle_ under the sweat and the blood.

“You like me that much?” Villanelle asks, thrilled and almost incredulous though she knows the answer.

Eve holds her closer, but she can’t say it.

Instead she says, “We’re gonna get caught.” The only acknowledgement is a soft hum against her neck. “Seriously, they’re going to hear you moaning and come fucking kill us.”

“No, they won’t.” Villanelle’s tone changes completely. She pulls away so now they’re face to face, eyes locked, like a snake hypnotizing its prey. It’s serious now, not a game. She’s telling Eve the simple facts, and that’s somehow even hotter. “They’re going to try to come back here and I’m going to gut them. Or slit their throat. Or strangle them, maybe.” She pauses, and stops moving as well, just to feel the stutter of Eve’s hips alone, desperate. The satisfied look on her face is insufferable. “That will be nice. I like the noises.”

Eve hangs on every word. “It feels good to do it with your own hands. You can really feel everything. They’ll fight, but I’ll be stronger.”

“You can watch.” One of Villanelle’s hands runs through her hair now, never pulling but caressing. It’s oddly relaxing. “I know you’re curious. Or maybe I’ll let you help. Don’t you want to know how it feels?”

It’s fucked up that that’s the hottest part, that’s the thing that has Eve moaning before she can stop herself. But it’s hard to care anymore when they’re this wrapped up in each other, when all she really wants is to pin Villanelle, to grind her down, to ride her hard and hear her talk about her _work_ —

The sound of a door opening echoes near them, then closes more quietly. Eve figures she’s fine with dying here. Just shoot her now so she doesn’t have to think about what she’s done.

Villanelle has other plans. She takes her hands off Eve, and with a wink and a smile she draws her knife.


End file.
